


Learning to Live

by Sass_Master



Series: Dream of Now [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Homophobia, Human Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has crowded in close, hand on the small of Dean’s back, nothing overt or inappropriate, but it’s noticeably intimate – and Dean’s perfectly fine with that until he notices an older couple further down the aisle throwing uncharitable looks in their direction. He tenses beneath Cas’s touch, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with Cas’s proximity.</p><p>He’s normally more careful in public. For a second he wonders if these people are genuinely hostile, like in a minions-from-hell kinda way, but Dean knows the difference between murderous intentions and… <em>this.</em> The judgment in their eyes has Dean stupidly shaken, feeling exposed. They’ve seen this side of him and they don’t care for it at all, and as little as Dean cares about the opinion of two backwater hicks at the local Wal-Mart, it still touches a nerve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Live

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clockworkrobots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/gifts).



> After months in the works I am finally done with this fic! This was written for Anna, who is lovely and talented and deserves at least a thousand fics written in their honor.
> 
>  **Additional warnings:** I tried to tag this as sensitively as possible while remaining true to the content of the fic. Homophobic views are voiced by characters in this story, but slurs are not explicitly used. Most instances of homophobia represented here are fairly mild or vaguely described. The homophobia _is_ addressed and condemned within the narrative.

“Is that what you’re getting?”

Dean startles as Cas suddenly appears behind him while he’s perusing the breakfast foods. Dean had lost track of Cas when he’d wandered off somewhere near the packaged cookies two aisles ago, and now he’s back just in time to police Dean’s shopping.

To an outsider, that could pass for an innocuously curious question, but Dean isn’t fooled. “What?” he says, cutting his eyes towards Cas, instinct and experience putting him on the defensive. “Cereal was on the list.”

“ _Healthy_ cereal was on the list.”

It was, and Cas is right to emphasize the healthy part – Sam underlined it three times, the fussy son of a bitch. His lists have gotten more obnoxiously specific since he realized that Dean considered them open to interpretation. (“I don’t care what you heard, Dean, pizza is _not_ a vegetable.”) Cas is a lot more dutiful than Dean is about following the list to the letter, but as far as Dean’s concerned, if Sam’s gonna be so anal about semantics then he can do the damn grocery shopping himself.

“Look,” Dean says, pointing to the box, “‘Fiber and whole grain,’” he quotes proudly. “And they’ve got ‘apple’ right in the name. Totally healthy.”

Cas squints at him suspiciously. “Sam says most cereals like that are full of sugar.”

“Well, you know what Sam’s full of?” He pauses for dramatic effect, pleased with himself for his wordplay and disappointed, as always, when his _brilliant_ joke doesn’t land.

Cas looks unimpressed, raising his eyebrow in the way that usually means trouble for Dean – often enough, it’s the _good_ kind of trouble, but Dean’s not optimistic about his odds at the moment. Cas crosses his arms and Dean’s attention is helplessly drawn to the way his biceps flex, pulling the fabric of his sleeves taut – god, that’s one of Dean’s old shirts, and it actually looks a little tight on Cas, which is so unfair on so many levels. Dean tears his gaze away and catches the tiny smirk on Cas’s lips, realizing Dean’s distraction may have been intentional. That sneaky bastard.

“I’m telling you,” Dean insists, trying to gain the upper hand, growing flustered for all kinds of reasons. “They’re not that bad. There’s some good stuff in here, I swear.”

Cas looks at him, unmoved. “What are the ingredients, then?” he asks calmly, the hint of a challenge on his face.

“It’s got—” Dean glances at the nutrition facts and stops abruptly. Oh for fuck’s sake, sugar’s the first damn thing on the list. “Uh,” Dean stalls, skimming further down in search of something less incriminating. He’s usually better at lying, he swears, but any skill he has in deception always seems to fly out the window at the most absurd and inconvenient times. “It’s got, uh, wheat fl—”

“Let me see it,” Cas interrupts him, reaching out.

“ _No_.” Dean protests, curling the box toward himself protectively, but Cas is too fast.

Cas plucks the cereal out of his hands and looks for himself. “Oh, isn’t that interesting,” he rumbles. Smug is a good look on Cas, and that’s incredibly unfair too. “We’re getting Sam the shredded wheat,” he announces. Dean’s definitely _not_ pouting, but he perks up when Cas tosses the box of off-brand Apple Jacks into the cart. Cas leans in to whisper like he’s got a secret, and Dean’s drawn in by his warmth, the air of conspiracy. “We can hide those in the bedroom.”

Cas smiles at him and Dean smiles back, the faint _pitter-patter_ in his chest a familiar and welcome thrill. Cas has crowded in close, hand on the small of Dean’s back, nothing overt or inappropriate, but it’s noticeably intimate – and Dean’s perfectly fine with that until he notices an older couple further down the aisle throwing uncharitable looks in their direction. He tenses beneath Cas’s touch, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with Cas’s proximity.

He’s normally more careful in public, wary of attracting this kind of attention – not that he feels particularly great about that either, acting like this is something shameful that he needs to hide, but it’s only out of self-preservation. For a second he wonders if these people are genuinely hostile, like in a minions-from-hell kinda way, but Dean knows the difference between murderous intentions and… _this_. Physically, there’s nothing intimidating about them at all, but the judgment in their eyes has Dean stupidly shaken, feeling exposed. They’ve seen this side of him and they don’t care for it at all, and as little as Dean cares about the opinion of two backwater hicks at the local Wal-Mart, it still touches a nerve.

Cas notices he’s gone rigid and looks at him in concern, tracks his line of sight. “Oh,” he huffs, withdrawing his hand, taking a small step away that feels like a freakin’ mile. “I’m sorry.”

Dean feels awful, cold from the absence of Cas’s touch. “You didn’t do anything, Cas,” Dean reassures him, voice stiff, gripping the shopping cart by the handle and steering it away, perhaps a little too quick, skittish.

“I know,” Cas says as he follows Dean into the next aisle. “I wasn’t… apologizing.”

And yeah, he definitely doesn’t look contrite, just annoyed over their moment being spoiled. Dean gets it – Cas is only expressing his regret for the world at large. Cas may be kind of a _fan_ of humanity but there are some parts of it that are pretty crappy, and Cas has been learning that the hard way.

“That’s just the way some people are,” Dean replies, “It’s fine, don’t let it get to you,” he adds, fully aware of what a hypocrite he’s being.

“It is _not_ fine,” Cas says firmly, looking adamant.

Dean frowns. “Okay, no, it’s not, but I mean, what’re you gonna do?” Dean’s aiming for flippant but he sounds just as defeated as he feels.

Cas just sighs, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “Well, smiting them isn’t an option, unfortunately.”

Dean’s not sure if Cas means it’s “not an option” because it’s morally wrong or because Cas doesn’t have his mojo anymore – or if that comment was supposed to be a joke. It’s hard to tell with Cas sometimes.

“Let’s just wrap it up here so we can get home and make dinner. You know Charlie’ll start gnawing on the walls if we don’t feed her soon.”

The mention of Charlie puts a smile back on Cas’s face. It abruptly falls away when they cross paths with the same couple from before. Dean’s convinced the woman mutters something ugly under her breath as they walk by, which is just _unnecessary_ if you ask him.

Dean tries to ignore it, and Cas doesn’t acknowledge it out loud, but he takes hold of Dean’s hand the second they climb into the car, away from onlookers, and broodingly stares out the window. He doesn’t let go the entire ride home.

*   *   *

Dean tries not to let on, but he can’t say that he doesn’t dread checking into motels nowadays, anticipating that moment when he asks for a single for him and Cas (or a double, if they’re with Sam) and the clerk looks at them and does the math. Dean hates feeling like he’s making a pronouncement just because they need somewhere to pass out for a few hours, waiting for the person at the counter to arrive at the inevitable conclusion. Reactions ranging from impassive to judgmentally closed-off are the worst that Dean’s had personal experience with, but he wrestles with the constant worry that today might be the day the bar gets set even lower, all too aware of how potentially extreme a negative response could be.

He and Cas are finally stopping for the night after a long, rainy drive and Cas is restless at his elbow when they step into the office to book a room, no doubt just as anxious to crash until morning as Dean is. Dean’s strongly considering indulging Cas in his habit of excessive sleeping in, even if they are trying to get home sooner rather than later. Dean finds himself less inclined to leap out of bed at the crack of dawn when he wakes up next to Cas anyway.

Dean shuffles up to the man at the counter (an older guy who looks inoffensive enough, aside from the worst fucking comb-over Dean’s ever seen) and grunts a request for a room with one king-sized bed, as he usually does, despite the wariness; he may be very guarded about this stuff but he draws the line at shelling out extra cash just to keep up appearances. Besides, it’s not like they ever stick around long enough to get a _reputation_ that would affect them in any way.

There’s the slightest beat of hesitation, Comb-Over’s smile briefly flickering as Dean finishes speaking, before slipping back into place. “I’m sorry, son,” he says brightly, “I musta heard ya wrong. Coulda sworn you asked for a king.” He doesn’t drop the façade of down-home cheerfulness, but Dean isn’t taken in by the performance – call him cynical, but he doesn’t buy for one second that this guy is innocently misunderstanding the situation.

Cas is silent beside him. Dean’s never sure if this is the kinda shit that Cas picks up on. Cas is sharp as hell with most things, but the subtle quirks of human interaction can fly below his radar sometimes, the nasty social nuances that can really do a number on you – the ones that you learn to look out for with a masochistic hypervigilance bordering on paranoia, even though you’d be happier tuning them out, not sure if you’re protecting or torturing yourself.

“I did ask for a king,” Dean confirms, voice wavering, heartbeat picking up speed. He’s embarrassed at how difficult it was to even manage that much, and he’s sure he didn’t come off nearly as defiant as he’d hoped, averting his eyes when he’d meant to level the guy with a withering glare. He’s caught off-guard – usually people just let their unwelcoming body language do the talking, they don’t actually _say_ anything. This is the first time it’s happened, and while it could definitely be worse at the moment, he has no idea where it’s going to go from here.

A few moments of tense silence pass and Dean’s holding his breath, wondering what Comb-Over’s next move will be. “…You know that couch ain’t a pull-out,” he says eventually, a mildly dangerous edge to his voice now, veiled but discernable because Dean’s listening for it so closely. He doesn’t let up with the pasted-on smile, but something hard and mean is taking shape in his gaze. Dean doesn’t know why this guy needs to push it – he’s already made his point – but Dean hears the insinuation there, the provocation, something bordering a threat.

Cas must hear it too, because he steps forward when Dean takes a few seconds too long to answer. “We’ll be fine,” he says irritably, slapping his hand down over the cash Dean’s laid out on the counter and sliding it forward. “Can we have our keys?”

Comb-Over hands them over with a show of reluctance, looks on without a word for another long, uncomfortable stretch of time before responding. “Nowadays, I’ll just end up on the news if I say no, won’t I?” he grouses, mouth pinched sourly.

In normal circumstances, Dean’s not exactly slow with a snide comeback for smarmy assholes like this, ready to meet ill-concealed hostility blow-for-blow, and if it escalates from there then _oh fucking well_ , bring it on, but with this… right now he just wants to take his keys and get the hell out of here – or find somewhere else to stay. Cas snatches the keys and the silence lingers as they trudge out of the office.

It was never exactly fun when he and Sam would get mistaken for a couple (they’re _brothers_ , for god’s sake) but there wasn’t any truth to it then. It was always easy enough to splutter indignantly and play up the disgust over how totally off-base people’s perceptions were. But it’s different with Cas. People aren’t jumping to an incorrect conclusion, they’re seeing something real, something he spent a long time hiding and lying to himself about. And even if this part of his life has turned into something way more important and positive than just a shameful secret, he doesn’t exactly want it scrutinized by strangers.

Dean was already exhausted from the drive and that interaction just put him over the top. He’s absurdly glad to be behind a closed door when they step into their room, one they can lock behind them, sealing themselves away from any judgmental onlookers. Dean goes the extra mile and makes sure the curtains are closed, wary of passersby even at this hour, before he worms his way into Cas’s arms and buries his face against Cas’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of soap, squeezing him tighter. He groans appreciatively, tension starting to melt away, when Cas’s strong fingers start kneading the back of his neck, massaging his scalp, just holding him. It’s hard to know if Cas understands just how intensely this kinda shit shakes Dean up (because, well, Dean refuses to talk about it) but it’s clear he can tell that Dean’s uneasy, lets Dean sag against him without a word. Cas is so damn good to him, always seems to know when Dean needs his comforting touch and reassuring presence the most.

Stuff like the run-in at the front desk is directed at Cas too, in a technical sense, but it never seems to bother him like it does with Dean. He wasn’t raised in a human world, wasn’t driven to those kinds of hang-ups, and he’s not the kind of guy who gives a fuck what people think about him either way. And Dean—well, for his whole damn life he’s made a show of adopting the same attitude, that he does whatever he wants and doesn’t care how the world sees him, but… maybe it’s starting to hit him how much of a show that really was.

Dean could conk out just standing here in Cas’s embrace, but it’d be even better in a bed, so he pulls away from Cas long enough to strip down and collapse onto the mattress. Cas joins him and actually manages to get them under the blankets, sidling up close with a kiss to his throat, stroking a hand over his stomach and up his chest. It’s affectionate and soothing, not meant to entice or work him up, but that could easily change, if Dean weren’t so damn tired. He rolls over, relieved when Cas doesn’t interpret it as rejection, just slots in behind him like Dean had hoped. Dean pulls Cas’s arm around him more securely, lacing their fingers together, and tries to let the knot in his chest loosen, to let the bitterness that’s lodged itself deep slowly ebb away. It’s not that hard, under the covers with Cas curled up behind him, pressing a kiss to his hair, to cling to that feeling of safety and drift off.

Dean’s still a little grouchy in the morning, speaking in monosyllables and stomping around as they pack up. Cas is patient with him, intervenes when Dean’s swearing at a stuck zipper on his duffel, cups Dean’s cheek and looks at them with those vividly earnest eyes. “We’ll be home soon,” Cas tells him, like a reminder, a reassurance, and Dean does feel his mood lift a little bit.

It drops again when they head outside and Dean notices through the office window that Comb-Over has apparently caught the early shift too.

Cas is glowering at him across the parking lot. “Why don’t you put our things in the car? I’ll drop the keys off,” he volunteers.

Dean hesitates, a little put out by that – what, Cas doesn’t think he can handle it? – but the insecurity passes pretty quick. Cas is just trying to help, and yeah, given the choice, Dean would rather not talk to that douchebag again.

Cas returns just as Dean’s finishing loading up the trunk. “What an unpleasant man,” he remarks, frowning.

Dean’s too afraid to ask what that means, what that fucker might’ve said to Cas. He sighs instead. “Yeah, he’s a dick,” he says vaguely, then he realizes Cas has a brown paper bag in his hand. “Uh, Cas?” he asks, confused. “What is that?”

Cas shrugs. “I took it from the counter when he wasn’t looking.” He opens the bag and peers inside. “I think it’s his breakfast.” He spots a trash can near the vending machine and casually tosses the bag in. “And now it’s garbage,” he concludes mildly, glancing at Dean and raising his eyebrows. “Mind if I drive for a while?”

Dean’s stunned into a laugh – what can he say, it’s amusing that Cas, a former warrior of God, can be so petty and vindictive sometimes. And in Dean’s totally unbiased opinion, if having his food thrown away is the worst thing that happens to that jerk today, Dean doesn’t feel too sorry for him. “Sure, buddy,” he says voice still tinged with mirth as he claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder, wonders what the hell he’d do without him. “Knock yourself out.”

*   *   *

Dean and Cas are up to their asses in lore, suffering through fruitless research trying to remotely help Sam and Jody with a case that, as it turns out, might not even be a case at all. It’s only been a few days, but Dean feels like they’ve been banging their heads against the wall for a century by now, and even Cas looks like he’s reaching his limit – eventually he runs out of “interesting” tidbits to share with Dean, and it’s a welcome surprise when he’s the one to suggest that they take a break and get out of the bunker for a little while. Dean would literally leap at the opportunity blow off some steam if he weren’t damn near fused to the chair at this point, cramped into an awkward hunch.

Hitting up the local bar they’ve been frequenting does the trick, at first: shutting his brain off for a bit, sitting calmly next to Cas and savoring their drinks, their knees brushing together on occasion. Not sitting _too_ close, just close enough for Dean to wish that it didn’t matter so much, that he could inch his way into Cas’s space, press his shoulder against Cas’s without being so uptight about it, feeling like people are watching with sharp eyes and judgmental attitudes.

It’s not too crowded tonight, but there are a few people watching the football game on a shitty little tube TV in the corner. Dean’s not really interested, but during a commercial break, an ad for some department store catches his attention. It’s a typical corny ‘tis the season’ spot, complete with perfectly roasted turkey and an extended family decked out in wholesome sweaters that would make Mr. Rogers jealous. And then, well, they don’t really make a big deal about it, but two of the men sitting down for holiday dinner appear to be a couple.

Dean thinks it’s kind of nice, actually. It breaks the mold a little bit (at least, Dean can’t think of a time _he’s_ seen that in an ad on network TV), but it’s subtle, not too preachy. He even notices Cas smiling in his peripheral vision.

Someone nearby in the bar doesn’t seem to be quite so impressed. There’s an audible scoff to Dean’s left, some rumblings of distaste. Suddenly, he’s having a much harder time relaxing.

Alcohol may not bring out the best in a person, but with the way the guy at the next table starts carrying on, Dean’s willing to bet it’s more than just the booze talking. He doesn’t even sound all that drunk, just naturally insufferable as he holds court with a group of coeds old enough to drink but young enough that Dean would’ve thought they’d be more open-minded. If it were some stuffy old geezer Dean might expect a rant about sinners and _family values_ but oh, this kid’s a comedian, hamming it up as if there’s anything funny about the absolute garbage spewing from his fat mouth. His friends seem perfectly content to let him ramble on uninterrupted, not contributing much commentary of their own but still smirking in agreement, laughing at all the right moments like good brainless sycophants.

Dean can’t help cringing at this guy’s… vocabulary. He’s been throwing around a few choice terms that Dean realizes, guilt settling heavily in his gut, he might’ve used himself back in the day – and he would’ve done it so thoughtlessly, too, because it was more or less expected of him, given his lifestyle, his upbringing. Hearing them now cuts him right to the core because god, they’re about people like _him_. And they always were, really, but the only way to make it by when he was younger was to dissociate from those labels completely, to carelessly deride them as if they didn’t apply to him.

Dean’s trying to keep his gaze trained on the TV, to tune out the ranting and enjoy his beer, but Cas is staring fucking daggers in that blowhard’s direction, looking tense and pissed off and not shy about it at all.

Cas’s glaring is too forceful to be ignored for long, and Dean’s stomach swoops in dread when he realizes the guy’s caught sight of them. He’s obviously feeling too bold to let it go, damn near preening at the apparent disapproval that Cas is projecting, arrogant smirk widening, still performing for his captive audience. “You see something you like, buddy?” he asks, and a girl to his right lets out a loud, grating giggle. Dean’s grip tightens on his beer bottle, half-expecting it to shatter in his hand.

The guy’s so smug about it, like he can’t believe his luck at how perfectly his latest dig ties into his current brand of hilarious hate-mongering, that Cas is about to give him an excuse to spit out more bile. He probably expects Cas to be intimidated by the confrontation. The kid really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

“Not remotely,” Cas replies, sounding almost bored, masking the almost imperceptible lethal edge that Dean’s attuned to. “I was only hoping you’d do us all a favor and shut the fuck up.”

Dean almost chokes on his drink. Cas doesn’t swear a lot (outside of the bedroom, anyway) but he sure knows how to use those words for maximum impact when he does. And yeah, Cas has a couple of beers in him by now so he’s _extra_ bold.

“You got something to say?” His creepy grin is actually faltering now, and Dean would be proud of Cas’s display (and kind of turned on, to be honest) if he weren’t so worried that this is about to get out of hand. God, he just came here to unwind and have a few drinks, he doesn’t want to deal with a bunch of buzzed 20-somethings at _all_ , let alone over something like… this. He can’t deny that that aspect has him shying away a little, braver about these kinds of conflicts – the secretly personal kind – when they’re just hypothetical. Actually facing them is always more upsetting than he’d planned for, keeps him from wanting to engage, but Cas has no such reservations.

“I believe I’ve already said it,” Cas replies, unflappable as ever. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

The other people at the table have gone quiet now, still watching in amusement. “You trying to start something?”

Cas actually starts to rise from his seat before Dean puts hand on his arm to stop him, his heart thudding unpleasantly. “ _Cas_.”

Cas looks at him, his frustration evident, plainly unclear as to why Dean is holding him back.

Dean’s normally not one to shy away from a fight – and they could take these drunk idiots, no problem – but getting into it over _this_ has him weirdly skittish, feeling exposed.  “Leave it alone?” he mumbles to Cas. It comes out as more of a plea than a stern suggestion. He’s shamefully cowed in situations like these, afraid if he gets too defensive then people will _know_. The derision’s not even directed at him this time. This guy isn’t really clued into the fact that he and Cas are – well, they’re… yeah – and Dean’s not proud to admit it, but he’d kind of like to keep it that way.

Cas doesn’t have the same concern. “ _Dean_ ,” he hisses, irritated, “He—”

“I know,” Dean interrupts. “But I— I just wanna drink.”

Dean doesn’t know what Cas sees in his expression – panic maybe, or something like defeat – but the steel in his eyes softens.

Against Dean’s better interest, he looks over at their _friend_ ; He’s clearly sizing them up, coming to exactly the conclusions that Dean was hoping to avoid. “What’s the problem, pal?” he taunts, his tone stripped of its comedic veneer, disdainful and real now. “Your _girlfriend_ won’t let you settle things like a man?”

Dean flinches. He’d love to think that this guy’s just being a dick, that that comment was just another _hilarious_ “joke,” but it’s obvious that he’s picked up on the reality of the situation now, twisting it cruelly to his purposes, intending to hurt. _Christ_ , Dean thinks, throat dry, he and Cas aren’t even doing anything, really, and god knows Dean’s not trying to attract attention – is that how fucking obvious it is, that some stranger can tell just by the way they stand next to each other, the way they look at each other?

Cas’s expression hardens again, offering a scowl in return but not rising to the bait. He tries to look less stormy when he turns back to Dean, but Dean can see the agitation simmering below the surface. “We have alcohol at home,” Cas offers. “Perhaps we should do our drinking there instead. I don’t care for the atmosphere here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face and fishing out his wallet. “Good idea. Not digging the vibe here tonight either.” He just hopes they can salvage some of their plan to unwind once they get back to the bunker.

“Thank god,” a disgusted voice trails after them as they pass by on their way to the door, clearly loud enough so they’ll hear it, “I really didn’t want to get arrested for committing a hate crime.”

More laughter bubbles up behind them, and Cas visibly bristles. Dean has to shove him outside before something regrettable happens.

Dean’s a few drinks deep when he slides into the car – he’d expected to chill out and sober up for a while, not leave so abruptly – but he’s driven in worse condition before. It’s a short and easy trip, so he’s not too worried. Either way, he’s in a lot better shape than Cas is.

Dean had foolishly thought Cas would calm down once they got out of the bar, but given the way he’s seething in the passenger’s seat, that assessment was pretty far off.

“What on earth was _wrong_ with him?” Cas wonders aloud, still very much affronted, it seems.

“People are assholes, Cas,” Dean replies bitterly. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean we have to put up with it.”

“We’re not… _putting up_ with it,” Dean says, feeling like a damn liar.

“But—”

“ _But_ we’re also not gonna throw down every time some pissant gets hammered and starts talkin’ smack.” Dean sneaks a glance at Cas, finds him frowning. Dean sighs. “It’s not worth it.”

Cas gives him an inscrutable look. “Dean—”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, all right?” He doesn’t mean to be short with Cas – it’s not him Dean’s mad at – but he’s more than ready to put all this unpleasantness behind him. Dean knows his go-to coping mechanism of stubbornly ignoring a problem isn’t the healthiest, but it’s better than dwelling on the tension in his chest, the churning in his stomach.

Cas squares his jaw, still defiant, but doesn’t say any more.

Dean would’ve been on board for more drinks at home, especially after their evening took such a nosedive, but it turns out Cas has other plans. They don’t even get around to cracking open a beer.

Cas immediately takes him to bed, fierce and determined as he presses Dean into the mattress, something more intense than usual in his touches, even as every kiss seems all the more unbearably tender, as if he’s got something to prove. It all clicks into place for Dean when they’re both on the brink and Cas starts whispering, growling in his ear _This is worth it, Dean, this is worth more than anything_ and Dean comes so hard he almost passes out. He’s a mess, tears prickling his eyes, physically and emotionally overstimulated, trembling in Cas’s arms. He clings tight, murmurs _Okay, okay_ in reply as Cas tips over the edge, touching every inch of Cas’s skin he can get his hands on, gasping so hard he’s dizzy with it.

Later, after Cas has conked out curled around him, Dean lies awake for a while, a strange mixture of satisfaction and lingering unease churning in his stomach. He cuddles closer to Cas, willing his racing mind to settle, thankful for Cas in his bed, disappointed in the world, hoping it all makes more sense tomorrow.

*   *   *

Dean’s glad that he and Cas didn’t drink anymore; he’s only the good kind of achy the next morning. Maybe he wouldn’t have minded if he’d gotten drunk enough to forget the incident at the bar, but he’s more than okay remembering the aftermath at home.

He rolls out of bed, not expecting Cas to join the world of the living for at least another hour, and wanders into the kitchen. He finds Charlie seated at the table, and bless her nerdy little heart, she’s made a fresh pot of coffee.

“Morning,” she says cheerfully, smiling when she sees him walk in and taking a break from tapping away at her tablet. “How was _date night_?” He knows she phrases it that way to tease him, but she’s not that far off in her word choice.

“Uh,” Dean stalls as he gets himself a mug. “Eventful.” It’s a vague description but it covers all of yesterday’s bases – the disagreeable aspects and the really, _really_ good ones.

Charlie shoots him a look that’s both suggestive and annoyed. “Yeah, I heard. Thanks for that, by the way.” Right, Charlie’s only clued into the part of _eventful_ that was, apparently, pretty _audible_.

“Sorry,” Dean says reflexively, but he can’t help smirking a little at the mild horror on her face.

Charlie hides her own smirk behind a sip of coffee. “No, you’re not.”

“Nah,” he agrees, grinning as he pours himself a cup and joins her at the table. “Not really.”

They fall into a silence that Dean knows would be comfortable if he let it settle in. He really likes having Charlie around. He’s still pretty private about things with him and Cas, but it’s nice to talk about it with someone who isn’t a close-minded asshole. Someone who’s, well… like him. It strikes him then what an idiot he’d been for trying to deal with things like last night’s _incident_ on his own. He doesn’t discuss it with Cas much. It’s hard – for all that Cas is sympathetic and understanding and so considerate of Dean’s needs and feelings, it’s just not the same for him. Angels live by a totally unrelated set of social rules, and Cas threw those out the window regardless. Charlie, on the other hand…

“Hey,” he says, diving into things without really thinking it through. “Uh. I was just— wondering,” he trails off vaguely, realizing he has no plan of how to approach this. There’s a reason he never talks about these things. Then again he’s never had anyone in his life who’d actually understand. He’s still getting used to being able to discuss this stuff with Charlie, that there’s so much more to delve into, so many questions he needs answered.

She’s back to scrolling on her iPad, but she raises her eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Yeah?” she asks. When she gets no response, she looks at him and prompts, “Wondering what?”

“Anyone ever—” he attempts. He sighs, takes a moment to collect himself. “Anyone ever, y’know, look at you funny? Like, if you’re out with a… girlfriend or something.”

She seems a little thrown off by the question, which, yeah, that’s fair, maybe he could’ve brought it up a little more tactfully. “Ooookay,” she says slowly, setting down her tablet and sliding it aside. “That was random. And kinda heavy when I’m only on my first cup? Like, seriously, give a girl a little warning.” She picks up her coffee and sits back, looking at him intently. “But yeah, sure, let’s get into it, why not?”

Dean’s stupidly relieved that she’s being so awesome about this. “Yeah,” he says with a faltering smile. “Cool.” He doesn’t really know where he wants to go from here, drinks from his mug and looks at Charlie expectantly.

“I mean,” she says eventually, “I’ll be honest, I’m not _totally_ sure what you’re angling for here. But, y’know, in my experience, PDA always gets someone’s attention, even when you’re trying to be subtle. Not that I’m great at being subtle, but you get the idea.”

That’s not exactly it though, for him and Cas. Dean’s definitely not bold enough for brazen affection with Cas in public, not even enough to sneak it. “Right, but like, what if—” Dean’s trying to figure out how to phrase it, to glean some information from Charlie’s perspective that he can apply to his own life. “What if you’re not even really doing anything, you’re just—”

“Lemme stop you for a sec,” She looks at him shrewdly, but doesn’t appear annoyed. “Not to totally make assumptions here, though I get the feeling I’m not far off the mark, but are you sure it’s me you wanna talk about?”

“I—uh.”

Charlie crosses her legs and looks smug. “Thought so.”

Dean feels like an ass for not being more straightforward with her. It’s not like he doesn’t care about her experiences, he’d be happy to talk about them, but he can’t pretend that’s why he brought the subject up. “Look, I—”

“Dude,” Charlie interrupts him again, putting her hand over his. “It’s cool. It’s not like that was gonna be a fun trip down memory lane for me. Just wanna be on the same page.” Dean seeks out her eyes, comforted by the kindness there, the understanding that makes him treasure her as a friend. “You all right?” she asks. “Did something happen?”

“No. Well,” He thinks about it for a second. “Yes? It’s not that ‘something happened,’ more like _things happen_ and it’s…” He sits up straighter in his seat. “Listen, you know me, it’s not like I go around… flaunting anything. But people still figure it out, what the deal is with me and Cas, and they’re total dicks about it. Like people say shit, or—or _glare_. Who fucking _glares_? Seriously, who does that?” Dean tries his damnedest to not make a habit of spilling his guts, but if it’s gonna happen, then he doesn’t mind that it’s with Charlie.

He takes a second to catch his breath. Charlie watches him quietly, and he trusts that she’s listening.

“And it’s not just them that’s the problem,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “It’s me. Cause it still kinda freaks me out that they can tell. And I know it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t bother me at all, like why the hell would I care what some random douchebag thinks about me?” He swallows hard, losing steam. “Cause I’m not,” his throat tightens up and he tries again. “I’m not embarrassed about being with Cas, I’m _not_ , I just…”

Charlie considers him for a few more beats before mercifully intervening. She puts down her coffee mug (a Princess Leia one that Dean totally uses when Charlie isn’t here) and leans forward, bracing her arms on the table and lacing her fingers together. “I’m gonna get real with you, Winchester, so _no_ wussing out on me, okay?” she says sternly. “I have like, zero time for the whole ‘boooo, I hate feelings, I’m so macho’ bullshit. Which no one buys, by the way, especially not me.”

Dean frowns, about to protest – that impression of him was insultingly inaccurate, in his opinion – but she gives him a dirty look and he holds up his hands in concession. “All right, no bullshit, feelings are awesome, so glad I have ‘em. Is that enough? Gonna lay your wisdom on me now?”

“Well, I _am_ incredibly wise,” Charlie says, eyes twinkling for a moment before they shift into something more serious. “But, I mean, dude, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here if I say you spent most of your life not being, um—” She looks at him warily, probably trying to figure out how to phrase it so he doesn’t shut down on her. “Not being super okay with… certain parts of yourself, am I right?”

Dean stifles an instinctive deflection. He knows when to shut up and let her continue.

Charlie seems to take his silence as confirmation. “Yeah, so, surprise, maybe you can’t undo decades of repression overnight? But that’s okay, Dean, that’s not your fault. It can take a long time to get the hang of the whole _out and proud_ thing. Plenty of people never even get close.” She snorts and smiles sadly. “Even I still have my moments where I wanna keep things on the down-low.”

Dean’s a little surprised to hear that. Charlie’s always been so open with them about who she is, but maybe it spoke more to the kinship among them than he’d realized.

“And, yeah, you’ve got way more catching up to do,” Charlie adds, “But you’ve come really far already,” she says earnestly. “I hope you realize that.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that – accepting compliments has never been his strong suit – but even he has to admit that there’s some truth to what Charlie’s saying. He can’t imagine himself having this conversation even a year ago. But it’s hard to accept that so much of this is still hard for him. He heaves a sigh. “I just don’t get it,” he says, deflating. “I mean, I’ve been through batshit insane, end-of-the-goddamn-world kinda stuff and handled it no problem, and _this_ is what gets to me?” He’s surprising _himself_ now, being so forthcoming with thoughts he’s honestly ashamed of, but he’s on a roll at this point, and if he doesn’t get it all out at once, he’s not sure he’ll have the nerve to try again.

Charlie reaches out and squeezes his hand again. “Well, it hurts when people wanna hate you for who you are. It _sucks_. Don’t beat yourself up over that, Dean, it’s totally okay to be upset by it. Just about everybody goes through this. You are so not alone here.”

Dean swallows. “Feels like I am sometimes,” he admits. It sounds melodramatic to his ears, but it’s not a lie. Other people don’t have to deal with this crap at all, and the ones that do seem so much better at soldiering through it than he is. He’d thought he’d be more embarrassed by saying it out loud, by the burning behind his eyes, but with Charlie holding his hand, it doesn’t seem so bad.

“Uhh, hello?” she says, gesturing to herself. “And Cas is with you in all this, isn’t he?”

“I guess, but…” Cas gets plenty bitter about it, for sure, but not quite _wounded_ in the same way. “It’s not the same for him. He doesn’t take it personally.” Cas isn’t afraid like Dean is. “You know how he is, no freakin’ shame about anything, and usually that’s a good thing, but—” He chokes out a laugh, swipes his hand over his face, finds his cheeks damp. “You shoulda seen him last night. Some drunk asshole was running his mouth about—” He shakes his head, not sure how to finish that thought, but he thinks Charlie gets the picture. “Wasn’t even cause of us, it was something on TV. I froze up, I just wanted to stay out of it, you know? Like he’d be able to _tell_ if I got involved.” He’s still ashamed of that, but it’s more bearable now that he’s opened up to Charlie about it. Go figure. “But Cas was furious, didn’t give a shit at _all_. So he calls the guy out, and next thing I know I’ve got to get him of there before shit gets ugly.”

“Wow,” Charlie says, raising her eyebrows. “The guy was getting that aggressive?”

“No, Cas was,” Dean clarifies, and he actually finds himself laughing in disbelief. “Had the smite-y face going and everything.” At the time he’d been anxiously trying to diffuse the situation, but looking back on it from a safe distance, the thought of Cas getting all righteously angry stokes a pleasant sort of heat inside him. He smiles at the memory, despite himself.

Charlie catches his smile, matches it with one of her own. “Maybe you should let him loose next time, crack a few skulls. I mean, metaphorically.” she hastens to add. “Probably, anyway. Might make you feel better,” she says with a knowing look.

Dean’s not really hoping for a chance to test that theory, but she could very well be right. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, not knowing what else to say at this point, even if that one word doesn’t begin to cover his overwhelming appreciation. He knows he’s not magically cured of all his fears and insecurities, but he feels a hell of a lot better actually addressing them, knowing he’s got someone to talk with again in the future.

“Awww, anytime, buddy,” Charlie says cheesily, knowing exactly when it’s time to lighten things up. “What are friends for?”

“Hell if I know,” Dean teases, laughing. “You eat yet? I was thinking French toast.”

Charlie perks up even more at that suggestion. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Comin’ right up.” He’d make her any kind of damn breakfast she wants right now.

“Hey,” she says as he walks over to the fridge for some eggs and milk. “Did I ever tell you about the time a girlfriend took me to her cousin’s wedding and it ended up a full-blown riot?” she asks. “Not because she brought me – it wasn’t my fault. Well, no, it was my fault a little bit,” she concedes. “I’m still not super welcome in that part of Pennsylvania. But I’m jumping ahead.”

A riot at a wedding doesn’t _sound_ like a funny story, but Charlie’s grinning, carefree and mischievous, and if it’s a tale she’s eager to tell, Dean’s definitely all ears.

*   *   *

A few weeks later, Dean, Sam and Cas are just wrapping up a wendigo hunt in South Carolina when they catch wind of a possible case. There’ve been reports of a couple unexplained attacks in Missouri, one within the last few days, both localized in a town so small and so remote it barely registers on the map. There’s nothing in the brief article that sounds definitive or outwardly paranormal, so it could be a total bust, but it’s more or less on the way home, and as far as Dean’s concerned, that makes it worth the slight detour.

Dean begins regretting that decision almost immediately, inexplicable unease setting in as soon as they roll into the neighborhood. He can’t lie, there’s something about these tiny old towns that creeps him out a little, and not just because they’re usually haunted like nobody’s goddamn business. This place looks strangely untouched by time, so sparsely populated that gossip gets around in a flash and god help you if your neighbors don’t like what they hear about you.

The bad vibes only get worse when he and Cas drive out to the county office to touch base with the sheriff.

“You must be Sheriff Jones,” Dean says when the deputy from the front desk shows them in, attempting to plaster on a friendly smile.

Jones sniffs. “Must be.”

Dean laughs, assuming that pithy response is just a bit of dry humor. It isn’t.

Jones is a middle-aged guy with a heavy brow and dark eyes, tall and fit for a guy in his forties, especially for someone living in a town that must not see a lot of action – ex-military, if Dean had to guess. He’s also got an exaggerated sense of self-importance and chip on his shoulder that can be seen from space.

He takes his sweet time accepting their handshakes when Cas and Dean introduce themselves, and by the time they’re all seated, Jones looking haughty and bored behind his oversized desk, Dean’s already on edge.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit, boys?” Jones drawls, and sure, they aren’t actually FBI, but his patronizing tone rankles Dean all the same.

“We wanted to ask a few questions about a recent disappearance in this area,” Dean replies, cutting right to the chase. He’s trying to keep it professional, but something about Jones just really grates on his nerves, and they’ve only been speaking for a few minutes. “Ramona Zimmerman?”

Jones quirks one thick eyebrow, the first hint of a crack in his impassive veneer since they arrived. “Don’t tell me the feds give a shit about a missing college girl,” he scoffs. “Don’t seem worth the trip.”

Dean’s used to that skepticism from cops, but Jones could stand to sound like _he_ gives a shit, at least. He tamps down the rising irritation, clearing his throat. “It could be linked to an ongoing investigation. I’m afraid the details have to stay within the bureau,” he say, falsely good-natured, trying to turn on the charm, though he only earns himself an unimpressed stare for his trouble. “You understand.”

“Right,” Jones says at length, and a heavy, awkward silence settles in.

Dean blinks in disbelief because seriously, what is this guy’s problem? It’s not like he was expecting Jones to be chummy with them – local cops usually aren’t, too wary of feds sticking their noses in to actually be friendly – but this seems a little over the top.

Word around the precinct is that Jones is new to his station. The last sheriff held the office for decades, would’ve been impossible to unseat if he hadn’t kicked the bucket, so Dean suspects that Jones is overeager, insecure like he’s got something to prove, flaunting his power now that he’s finally got his hands on the reins. It’s probably the first time he’s gotten a case interesting enough to warrant an article in the paper, and in swoops the FBI to steal his thunder – that’s bound to get under his skin, although Dean can’t imagine that he’s a ray of sunshine even on a good day.

Cas fidgets in what Dean recognizes as annoyance, fixing Jones with a grave look and finally breaking the silence. “Could you tell us about it?”

“Ain’t much to tell.”

Dean’s not sure if they really know that little or Jones is _that_ dead-set on being uncooperative. “Any witnesses?” Dean offers, knowing Jones isn’t going to meet him halfway. “Evidence of foul play?”

Jones sighs, lets them stew a bit before deigning to reply. Dean recognizes it for the subtle yet obnoxious power-play it is, the way Jones is enjoying making them wait, commanding a larger portion of the conversation time even though he’s not really contributing much of anything. “Found her car a few miles out. Near the reservoir.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes – Christ, they’re finally getting somewhere. “Think you could head over there with us?”

It’s another infuriatingly long pause before Jones grunts, “’Spose I oughta.”

“Thanks, sheriff. ‘Preciate it.” Dean doesn’t try all that hard to suppress his sarcasm. He’s got no hope of making friends here; Jones doesn’t seem all that crazy about him either, and he looks even more ornery thanks to Dean’s obvious insincere gratitude. He’s a bit more indifferent to Cas, but Dean’s been doing a lot more of the talking. It’s not that Cas can’t handle these types of conversations, but Dean can tell by the look Cas is sporting that he just doesn’t _want_ to talk to Jones. Dean hardly blames him. He hopes Sam’s interview with Ramona’s family is going more smoothly than this is.

Once they’re outside, Cas and Dean climb into the Impala while Jones starts up his cruiser. On most jobs, Dean would just hitch a ride to the crime scene with someone in the department, just to make things simpler, but Dean’s got no interest in spending more time with Jones than he has to.

“Boy he’s a barrel of laughs, ain’t he?” Dean says, once the doors are closed and he and Cas are safely out of earshot.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, deadpan. “Truly a delight.”

Dean chuckles, happy for the opportunity to crack a genuine smile. Dean’s heart skips in that funny way it always does when Cas gets the joke and plays along, surprises a laugh out of Dean in return.

Ramona’s rusty pick-up is parked by the bank of the reservoir, slightly obscured by the tall grass. Jones is already standing near it, looking surlier than ever when they pull in. Dean leaves the Impala a few yards away and they follow the worn dirt path down to the waterline.

They join Jones and examine the car, taking a close look at the surroundings, although there isn’t much to see. A disappearance could be caused by any number of things out here by the water – water wraith, kelpie, even a straggler leviathan – but there’s nothing that looks off to Dean, no traces of anything sinister, human or otherwise.

They’re at a loss, another unbearable silence closing in, when Cas’s cell phone rings. It’s probably Sam, Dean assumes as he pats down his pockets and realizes he left his own phone in the car. Cas wanders back towards the car to take the call and Dean’s focus is immediately drawn to Cas’s retreating figure – Cas looks fucking _good_ today, what else is new, sharp and put-together in a dark gray suit. They’ve been on the road for a while, lacking energy or allowance in their daily schedule for much real private time, whether they share a room with Sam or not, so it’s easy to get distracted by the broadness of Cas’s shoulders, to linger on the sight of his long fingers stroking his stubbled chin thoughtfully as he talks to Sam. Dean feels the ghost of a smile reach his lips – God, he’s so fond of Cas it’s honestly disgusting.

He must space out for a minute there, actually, because when he snaps himself out of it, schooling his features into something more neutral and turning back to the sheriff, he can’t help but notice a change in Jones’s demeanor when they lock eyes again, something even nastier than before. He doesn’t look so bored now, definitely paying Dean more attention, but there’s nothing friendly about it. There’s something dangerous there, cutting through the air of arrogant disinterest, watching Dean like a damn hawk, and Dean prays he’s imagining it, but he doesn’t feel so lucky.

“So, Sheriff,” Dean says abruptly, hoping to divert this situation to something a little more professional, and maybe get some information that they can actually work with. “There was another disappearance around here recently, wasn’t there?”

“Couple months back,” Jones replies, shockingly prompt. “No fuckin’ mystery about that, though.”

“How so?” Dean has the sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t really want to know.

Jones sniffs. “Kid from the next town over buys himself a brand new Mustang and slaps one of them _rainbow flags_ on the bumper.” Dean suppresses a wince. “Put a target on his back real quick.”

Dean tenses, and he swears he catches a hint of a smirk from Jones. _Now_ he decides to be chatty. “You don’t seem too busted up over it,” he mutters through gritted teeth. Dean’s capacity for politeness wasn’t much to begin with but it’s shrinking fast.

The bastard just shrugs. “Shit-brained thing to do, callin’ _attention_ to himself like that. What did he think was gonna happen? Only a matter of time before somebody did something about it.” He’s so infuriatingly nonchalant, like that disturbing outcome was inevitable. Like it was _necessary_. “’Sides, he turned up eventually.”

No thanks to Jones, Dean would bet. “Nice to know you’re lookin’ out for your citizens, Sheriff,” Dean fires back, scowling.

That earns him a scoff, and Dean’s not sure if he should feel proud of himself for actually getting a rise out of Jones. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he replies slowly, laying it on real thick. “Did I say something to _offend_ you, agent?”

Dean usually likes getting into character playing FBI, feels more in control and protected donning a suit and carrying a badge, but that armor’s useless against someone like Jones. The only authority he respects is his own, and Dean might actually admire that if Jones weren’t such an asshole on top of it. Dean’s not intimidated by him, not really, but if Jones sees something in Dean that he doesn’t like, he can’t really be counted on for civility. This could get ugly pretty fast.

“Yeah, actually,” Dean agrees, reaching his limit, “I _am_ pretty offended by cops who don’t give a shit about protecting people who need it.”

“Well, _pardon me_ , princess,” Jones replies with that grating note of faux concern. “No need to be so _sensitive_ about it.” He scoffs again, makes no attempt to mask his disgust. “But that’s how it is with your type, ain’t it? Always with the dramatics.”

 _Your type_ echoes in Dean’s head for a long, agonizing moment. The implication is obvious – he really does have Dean’s number after all, he really… god, Dean’s sweating a little cause yeah, Jones is going there. This bigoted asshole with a lot of pull in this town and a gun on his hip has zeroed in on that particular secret and is not about to let it go. Sure, he could handle it if things got physical, is probably better armed than Jones is, but Jesus, he really hopes it doesn’t come to that.

His instincts are telling him to get the hell outta dodge, and it’s still a struggle not to be embarrassed by the urge to choose flight over fight. But he genuinely wants no part of this, and if this is going to escalate, he’s not gonna be the one to push it there, even if the worst he has to fear could possibly just be his own discomfort. “You know what?” he says, squaring his shoulders and looking Jones in the eye, “You’re wasting my time.” He’s pleased that his voice comes out strong and even, no audible trace of his rapidly increasing anxiety. “Cas,” Dean says to him when he approaches, phone call completed. “We’re leaving.”

Cas frowns. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Dean says before Jones can get a word in. “Let’s get out of here. This prick ain’t gonna help us.”

Dean starts to walk away but stops abruptly because Cas isn’t budging, staring Jones down with mistrust written all over his face.

Jones lets out a nasty little chuckle, clearly directed at Dean. “Don’t want your partner in the loop, huh?” he sneers. “He know you can’t keep your eyes to yourself?”

The idea of Jones trying to… _out_ him to Cas of all people should be laughable. It is, in a way – the threat there is comical, hardly the bombshell that Jones seems to think it is – but Dean feels a sting of humiliation all the same, finds it weirdly upsetting that someone’s trying to use a very private, very personal aspect of his life to try and hurt him.

Cas looks at him warily. “Excuse me?”

“Just thought you oughta know what goes on when your back’s turned.”

Cas’s frown deepens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies. Cas could legitimately be clueless here, but the more obvious sentiment is he just doesn’t give a fuck what Jones has to say.

Jones shrugs again, tosses a look of distaste in Dean’s direction. “All I’m sayin’ is, might wanna watch your ass, else he’ll do it for ya,” he says, looking smug like he’s so damn clever.

“That isn’t your concern,” Cas says, recognition flickering in his eyes, mingling with rising hostility.

The air of self-indulgent superiority vanishes in a second, Jones’s posture going rigid, expression cold. “Damn well is my concern if you waltz into my office expectin’ me to work with someone like—” he looks fleetingly in Dean’s direction, “ _That_ ,” he spits with undisguised contempt. “Ain’t fuckin’ right if you ask me.”

“I don’t believe I did ask you,” Cas says, still appearing unfazed, but Dean knows him too well to buy it. Jones is getting under his skin. “I assure you, I have no interest in your opinion.”

“Cas,” Dean interjects, because really, they should just walk away at this point. Jones is not worth the effort. “Let’s—”

“Ain’t just my opinion,” Jones interrupts, still addressing Cas. “People ‘round here have certain values and I don’t appreciate this shit bein’ brought to my neighborhood.” He’s starting to get in Cas’s space now, but Cas stands his ground.

“You’re entitled to your ignorant beliefs,” Cas says, perfectly neutral. “But I’m asking you politely to watch your mouth.”

And yep, there it is, the palpable hint of a threat, the suggestion of a growl in his voice. Cas can be scary as shit when he wants to be, and a smarter man than Jones would’ve taken Cas up on the offer to shut his damn trap and move on, but the pompous ass just keeps right on going, takes another step into Cas’s space, looks on in silence for a beat or two. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, evidently changing tack now that he realizes exposing Dean doesn’t have the impact on Cas that he was hoping for. “Ya know, the tough guy act is _real cute_ and all, but I don’t think you have to work so hard to impress your boyfriend over there.” He scoffs. “I know what people like him are like. Got that _desperate_ look about him, know what I mean?”

Dean feels his stomach give a sickening lurch, a blush burning his cheeks.

Cas’s jaw clenches. “You—”

Jones carries on, cuts Cas off. “Probably’ll take it wherever he can get it, get on his knees for any sorry son of a bitch that comes sniffin’ around.” He pauses and laughs, raw and vicious. “Shit, bet if I asked nice enough he’d even let _me_ —”

Cas doesn’t hesitate when he strikes, is fucking _on_ Jones before Dean gets a chance to properly react, knocks him back with a single resounding fist to the face, sends him sprawling in the dirt.

Dean’s eyes widen, darting between Jones’ prone figure and Cas’s clenched hand. That wasn’t the outcome he’d been hoping for but he can’t lie, it’s kind of hot to see Cas looking all wrathful on his behalf, radiating righteous fury, bicep still flexed. He sucks in a breath. “Holy shit.”

Jones groans at their feet, stirring and cursing a blue streak - he’s still conscious, then, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon. Dean kind of hopes he has a concussion.

Cas only spares him a disdainful glance, looking haughtily down his nose at him, straightening his tie. He faces Dean again. “I’m ready to leave now,” he announces, adjusting his shirt-cuffs and striding purposefully towards the car. Cas has always had a knack for making an exit.

Dean takes off after him, quick to scramble into the Impala and start her up. He’s only more anxious to hit the road now, certain that sticking around wouldn’t end well for them, glad to put a bit of distance between them and Jones. The sheriff’ll probably have entire county on their asses whenever he gets himself upright, but Dean doesn’t plan on being easy to find – they use fake names and shit for a reason.

“Okay, so,” Dean says once the reservoir’s in the rear-view mirror, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up and escaping, “That didn’t go as planned.”

Cas shifts on the seat next to him, heaves a sigh. “I suppose I may have overreacted.”

Dean looks at him sharply. “You’re not seriously apologizing for that, are you?” he asks in disbelief. Like _hell_ is Cas gonna try to backpedal on this one. “That piece of shit had it coming.”

“He certainly did,” Cas agrees, anger returning to his voice, the dark rasp of it sending Dean’s heart pounding all over again, and for much more enjoyable reasons this time. “I don’t regret it. But I should try to have better control of myself.” Dean can feel Cas’s gaze on him. “And I shouldn’t have acted on your behalf. You can handle yourself without me.”

Dean briefly looks at Cas again, lips quirking into a half smile, trying to concentrate on the road instead of Cas’s gorgeous profile and not entirely succeeding. “I know you’re not trying to fight my battles for me, Cas.” He can genuinely say that he’s never taken Cas’s protectiveness as an assumption of weakness on his part – the only one making Dean feel weak here is himself. But maybe Charlie was right, maybe it’s okay to let Cas be fearless about these things for him, until he catches up. “I appreciate you sticking up for me.” His smirk widens, the pitch of his words dipping low. “Kinda like it that you’re willing to Hulk out to defend my honor,” he adds with a teasing laugh. “Makes me all tingly.”

And sure, he phrases that like a joke as he always does, but it’s not even remotely an exaggeration. He’s still restless from adrenaline like he’s the one who threw a punch, keyed up from watching Cas deck that asshole in his fat mouth.

Dean looks at Cas again, gaze traveling shamelessly along his strong jaw, his broad shoulders, and licks his lips. God, of all things for Sheriff Douchebag to call him out for – yeah, he _wanted_ Cas, couldn’t even tear his eyes away with how fierce his desire was, and someone like Jones would want him to feel paralyzed with shame because of it but _fuck all that_.

He _always_ wants Cas – damn near out of his mind with it right now in particular, leg jostling compulsively, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, fidgeting at the memory of Cas’s defiant eyes as he stared that motherfucker down – and like hell is he ever gonna stop wanting him.

Dean makes it another mile or so before he has to pull over, slowing to a stop off the side of what passes for a highway around these parts. He’s just—he’s gotta—

He puts the car in park and twists around towards Cas, something wild beneath his skin, itching to get out. Cas furrows his brow inquisitively, betraying the confusion that he doesn’t get the chance to voice before Dean grabs his tie, yanking him forward for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and rough at first, but Dean’s careful to soften it, to tamp down the urgency just a bit because he wants to enjoy this – even though he’s longing for _more more more_ , to get his hands on Cas, get Cas’s hands all over _him_ , show Cas just what Dean feels for him in this moment, make him feel good, give him anything he could possibly ask for.

Dean’s pleased that, even when caught off-guard, Cas doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into this, curling his fingers around Dean’s jaw, nipping at his lower lip. He doesn’t question Dean or try to stop him, just returns his enthusiasm, makes Dean feel wanted too, long fingers wandering up Dean’s thigh, insinuating himself into Dean’s space like he can’t possibly get close enough.

They’re both out of breath when Dean breaks away but he only pauses long enough to peel his jacket off, stiflingly _hot_ all of a sudden, then leans in to nuzzle along Cas’s stubbled jaw, sucking a mark into the tanned skin of his neck. He strips Cas’s jacket off too and lets his hands caress Cas’s biceps appreciatively, wandering up to his sturdy shoulders and back down his chest, feeling the firm muscle through his shirt. The way this button down fits Cas makes Dean crazy, but he only pauses to admire it for a moment before pulling his tie off and clawing at the buttons, needing to feel Cas properly, to get at the smooth skin still frustratingly hidden underneath his clothes.

Dean hums against Cas’s cheek, satisfied that Cas’s torso is finally bared to his gaze, to his insistent touch. He earns himself a shaky huff of breath from Cas’s lips when he grazes a nipple, then trails lower, Cas’s taut stomach muscles jumping under his fingertips, Cas’s hand settling heavily on the nape of Dean’s neck.

Dean can’t resist anymore, dipping lower and fitting his palm over Cas’s growing erection. Dean loves this, getting Cas all riled up, feeling him stiffen further in his hand, strain against the fabric. Cas guides him into another kiss as Dean squeezes him through his pants, coaxing him harder until Cas is bucking into his touch, writhing with impatience.

Dean gets him unbuckled and inches the zipper down slowly. He shoves Cas’s pants and boxers out of the way enough to draw his cock out, thrilled by the weight of it, flushed and hot beneath his fingers, and god, he’s so fucking eager for it he has to stifle a whine. The word _desperate_ pipes up in the back of his mind for just a second, but this isn’t anything like what that asshole was talking about. What goes on between him and Cas is so much more than whatever sick, twisted thing some ignorant piece of shit wants to make it out to be.

Dean gives Cas a few good strokes, feels him pulse in Dean’s grip. Yeah, Dean can’t wait to get his mouth on him, practically drooling at the idea of it as he leans in. He can’t even imagine how many pornos he’s seen with this exact scenario but this is nothing like that, really, nothing exaggerated or faked about how bad he wants this.

He drags his lips along the crown of Cas’s cock, allows himself a few indulgent licks, gazing up at Cas. Heat blossoms in his stomach when their eyes lock, the unbridled lust in Cas’s expression eliciting a wanton moan from Dean’s throat. Suddenly he’s too impatient to draw this out any longer, adjusts his position and gets his knees on the seat beneath him, takes his time drawing Cas’s full length into his mouth, savoring the thickness pressing down on his tongue, humming in contentment. He pulls back just as slow, keeps looking at Cas as he pushes forward again, then again, quickly building up a luxurious, methodical rhythm. Cas’s hand comes to rest on the back of Dean’s head – not demanding, just carefully guiding, a warm, comforting weight threaded through his hair, encouraging his movements.

Cas’s appreciative groans send Dean’s arousal flaring, the way he tightens his grip in Dean’s hair, groaning Dean’s name, so guttural it’s hardly recognizable. It spurs Dean on, makes him redouble his efforts, sucking in his cheeks, adding a filthy flutter of his tongue on every pass, eyelids drifting shut. Then he gets greedy for it, opens his mouth wider, pushes the limit of how deep he can take him. The inevitable ache in his jaw is well worth the promise of Cas spilling down his throat or smearing hot on his lips and cheeks, dripping onto his chin – proof that Dean was the one to do that, to give him that pleasure.

Dean shudders in anticipation at the thought, his own dick throbbing in sympathy. Jesus, this always gets him going, Cas’s cock sliding between his lips, the taste of it leaking onto his tongue. He reaches down to touch himself – he’s so _hard_ , probably has been since Cas’s fist connected with Jones’ face, since Dean got an eyeful of Cas looking pissed off and _powerful_ – thrusting into his own touch, moaning because it’s so good but not nearly enough. He gets his belt open, unzips to get a hand around himself and gets lost in the sensation, Cas filling his mouth, his own fingers firmly circled around his cock.

Cas strokes his hair, affectionate and strangely gentle considering the head of his dick’s nudging at Dean’s soft palate. He slides his fingers to the nape of Dean’s neck and down over his shoulders, settling at the small of his back. He fists the fabric of Dean’s shirt and pulls, untucks it from the waistband and slips his fingers past Dean’s belt in its place, cupping Dean’s ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Dean moans again, has to pull away and catch his breath, panting and mouthing lazily at Cas’s cock, red and leaking beneath his fingers and _oh_ , he’d really only planned on sucking Cas off, was gonna get his in the rough palm of Cas’s hand – or maybe just riding one of those thick thighs, lord knows he’s worked up enough for it – but…

Dean tells himself it’s about Cas, and it is, but he also wants Cas inside him like _yesterday_. Besides, he’s never actually been fucked in his car before, and that’s a crying shame as far as he’s concerned.

He sits up, still stroking Cas in his fist. “Um—” he says abortively, no idea where he was going with that, but Cas drags him in for a kiss, more forceful now, tongue insistent and teeth sharp. Dean’s toes curl and he shamelessly tries to get closer, ready to climb on top of Cas and take what he wants. It’s an embarrassing scramble to get undressed enough to make that happen. Dean doesn’t even know what he’s trying to do here, but his pants are already sliding down his legs, so he starts to kick them free, toeing his shoes off, losing his boxers too while he’s at it. By the time Dean’s bare from the waist down Cas has already pried his shirt buttons open, pulled his tie loose and tossed it carelessly into the back seat. He presses his lips to Dean’s neck and Dean shivers from the scrape of his stubble, keens when Cas’s fingers trace a path along his chest, pinching a nipple, rolling it gently.

Dean’s shirt is still hanging off of him but he can’t be bothered to strip down any further, swings one leg to Cas’s other side and straddles him, settles in his lap. He doesn’t want to break their kiss just yet, loving Cas’s plush mouth for the moment, how solid Cas feels beneath him, Cas’s huge hands taking a leisurely path skimming up his thighs towards his ass and resting there, proprietary. Dean winds his fingers in Cas’s hair and presses himself closer, rubs his cock against Cas’s firm stomach, his desperate noises muffled between their lips. Then Cas shifts just so, further down the seat so his dick’s riding back, filthy and suggestive, still slick from Dean’s mouth and right where Dean wants him and _yeah_ , Dean’s ready to get this show on the road.

And sure, despite plenty of fooling around in this car, they haven’t gotten around to doing _this_ before, exactly, but Dean says a prayer of thanks that he’d been hopeful enough to stash some lube in the glove compartment. Dean fumbles blindly behind himself until he can retrieve the bottle – Cas looks pleasantly surprised to see it, a hint of a glint in his eye, smirk on his face – and Dean uncaps it, hands trembling in anticipation, in excitement.

He reaches back and Cas helps by smoothing his hands over the flesh of his ass and spreading him open – Dean blushes furiously at the exposure but he’s too far gone to be deterred by any embarrassment, cock so hard by now it _aches_. He sighs, circling the tip of one finger and sliding it inside, not at a great angle and not nearly what he needs but he could damn near cry at how good it feels after a couple weeks without this.

It’s always a little more difficult to be the one doing this to himself, but Dean’s determined to do the heavy lifting here, wants to get himself ready, let Cas just sit back and enjoy it. Of course, sitting back and enjoying it isn’t really Cas’s style – he takes the bottle from Dean’s slackening grip and adds his own slick finger alongside Dean’s, observing his reaction attentively, kissing the underside of his jaw.

Dean whimpers as they work together in a steady rhythm, loosening him up with careful, teasing motions. Before long Dean adds another finger – too soon probably, but he’s thrilled by the burn, hissing through his teeth and arching into it and fuck, he really can’t wait anymore.

He pulls his hand away and Cas’s with it, gets into position to lower himself onto Cas’s cock. His eyes want to slam shut in pleasure as he sinks down, but he forces them open so he can watch Cas’s face, legs shaking as he slides home inch by torturous inch. Cas’s eyelids flutter but his focus on Dean is unwavering, running his hands up and down Dean’s thighs, firmly resting on his waist to steady him.

Dean wonders if they could’ve spent a little longer teasing him open but the stretch is amazing, everything he’s craving right now. He feels so gloriously full, revels in the sensation of Cas deep inside him for a moment before he needs more. It takes a second to get the hang of it, a bit of maneuvering before he can get his knees solidly planted for leverage, Cas slipping even further down the seat, but then Dean starts to move, to bounce tentatively in Cas’s lap, working himself back and forth, groaning. He keeps it shallow at first, not much room to do more than that but it’s so good like this, circling his hips, looking for the right angle and oh, _oh_ , there, _god_.

Dean’s minimal remaining restraint shatters and he rocks into the sensation with abandon, leather seat squeaking beneath them. He’s too restless with desire to take it easy, gives himself over to a frantic pace because he meant it when he said he wasn’t ashamed of being with Cas, isn’t even ashamed of wanting _this_ as badly as he does. Because mojo or not, Cas is a creature of heaven, that hasn’t changed, and if something so holy can look at someone during an act like this, the way Cas is looking at Dean now, then it can’t be wrong, and fuck anybody who says otherwise. Dean’s done a lot of things in his life that he’s not proud of, but this doesn’t crack the top ten, not even close. Cas was right: this is everything.  

Dean gives himself over to it, moans growing louder as Cas starts to meet him thrust for thrust. He clutches at Dean, roughly palming his ass, helping to lift him up and down on his cock, and Dean’s dizzy from the strength of Cas’s hands, the intensity of his ardor. Jones could have sent someone after them by now – hell, anyone could drive by and fucking see them like this, it’s the middle of the afternoon and they’re only parked on the side of the road – but damn if that doesn’t just make it hotter, ratchets up the desperation a couple of notches, sends a rush coursing through him that has him quickening his movements, muscles burning.

Cas hitches him higher, pulls him closer so he can circle his tongue around each of Dean’s nipples in turn, taking them into his mouth and biting down until Dean cries out, pitching forward and bracing himself against the backrest. Dean leans in for more kisses, Cas’s arms wrapping around him more securely, holding him in place as he languidly pushes his cock inside, steals the breath from Dean’s lungs.

It would be so easy to let Cas take over from here – god knows he’s tempted – but Dean’s still determined to give as good as he gets, rocking down into each twitch of Cas’s hips. They move together in minute undulations, not much room to maneuver, but there’s enough force behind it that Dean feels the air being punched from his lungs each time Cas presses all the way in, fills him up just right. They’ve fallen into easy synchronicity – an intoxicating, relentless grind, an exquisite, constant pressure on Dean’s prostate that makes him choke on a moan because oh holy _fuck_ that feels good, pleasure bubbling up with sudden swiftness and insistence.

He reaches down to touch himself, to give himself that last little push, but… There’ve been times when he’s so worked up, when Cas has the perfect angle inside him, that he’s felt maddeningly close to orgasm, but he’s always needed more to tip him over the edge, too impatient to see it through. He gives himself a few light strokes and eases off, inches himself that little bit closer because god, he might actually get off from this, just from being fucked, and he wants to see if he can do it. He touches himself again, fingertips grazing the wet head of his dick until it’s almost too much and withdraws his hand, balling it into a fist next to Cas’s head.

Cas makes a moves to touch him but Dean stays his hand. Cas looks up at him, concerned, but Dean manages to grind out, “Just like that, I’m—” trailing off into a whine.

“Just like this?” Cas asks, looking nothing short of intrigued, and he just goes with it, keeps up his half of their unwavering rhythm. He’s going faster now, goading Dean into matching his pace.

Dean’s right on the precipice and whimpering pathetically. It’s so fucking good but it might not be enough, even though he’s so _so_ close. “Oh, god,” he bites out, shameless in his desperation, heat building in his gut. “Oh my _god_ , Cas, fuck.”

He wraps his arms around Cas’s neck, buries his face there, and Cas murmurs encouragement in his ear, nonsense and sweet dirty nothings. He runs one hand up Dean’s back and into Dean’s hair, tugging on the fine strands, his other hand resting solidly on the base of Dean’s spine, curious fingertips dipping lower, tracing where Dean’s stretched and sensitive around Cas’s cock. Dean says Cas’s name again, overwhelming _need_ rising within him and _oh_ , this is actually happening and Dean nearly shouts in surprise and pleasure when he starts to come, just from Cas’s dick inside him, goddamn. He dissolves into a pitiful moan when Cas finally takes hold of his cock and coaxes him through it, sensation spiking until it’s almost too much, streaking his own stomach and staining Cas’s shirt cuffs.

Cas holds him gently, kissing his cheek as he comes down from it, shaking all over, heart pounding, breath labored. But Dean doesn’t settle for long, starts up his movements again, kissing Cas fiercely, determined to make this good for him.

Cas is close; Dean can tell by the way his breath is hitching, the way his fingers are digging bruises into Dean’s skin, and Dean _wants_ it, maybe even more than Cas does. Eventually he lets Cas hold him still and chase it, thrusting up into Dean’s pliant, willing body until the moment he hits his peak, going rigid, and Dean takes over again, rolling his hips insistently, right there with Cas as he shudders and gasps and bites down on whatever bit of Dean’s skin he can reach, growl rumbling deep in his chest.

When Cas comes it feels like a well-earned reward, evidence of Cas’s pleasure pulsing inside him, and Dean’s so satisfied he might not even care if they stain the upholstery.

Dean leans back a little, frames Cas’s face in his hands, looks deep into his eyes. He brushes the hair off Cas’s forehead, kisses his temple, his cheek, soft and delicate because Cas might be this force of nature who’ll manhandle him in bed and punch homophobes in their stupid smug faces, but he’s still precious to Dean, capable of so much tenderness and deserving of it too.

Cas kisses him, nothing but easy affection and Dean lingers a moment before drawing back, shifts his weight so he can tuck himself in the crook of Cas’s neck again, where he always feels like he belongs. He sighs happily when Cas strokes his hair, pressing his lips to the crown of Dean’s head, keeping him close and safe. _Protected_.

“Dean?” Cas asks after a comfortable silence has settled in.

“Mmm?” Dean replies, close to nodding off in Cas’s lap.

“Are you upset about what that sheriff said?” Cas asks, somewhat uncertain. “I know that sort of confrontation bothers you.”

And, well, it turns out that Dean’s not nearly as bothered as he would’ve expected – it’s especially hard to be affected by that bullshit right now, warm in Cas’s embrace, so sated he can hardly move. Reflecting on it does bring a sourness to the pit of his stomach, but it’s more muted now, mingling with something brighter and more comforting. He’s just feeling… a _lot_ right now. He buries his face deeper against Cas’s shoulder. “I’m workin’ on it,” he mumbles, swallowing past a lump in his throat before composing himself, injecting some levity into his voice. “But you’ve got my back in the meantime, right?”

“Of course,” Cas replies immediately, with painful sincerity as always. After a beat he adds, “I couldn’t stand to hear him speak to you that way,” a hint of aggression returning to his tone and yeah, Dean can’t lie, he’s really into that.

Dean chuckles, brought back from his momentary funk. “Yeah, I could tell,” he says with a smirk. “You fuckin’ laid him out,” he says, voice low and heated, not bothering to mask his admiration. “You held back, though, didn’t you,” he realizes out loud. “You could’ve knocked him out cold no problem.” He’s well aware of what Cas is capable of. Jones is probably lucky to be _alive_.

“I could have,” Cas admits, aiming for sheepish if Dean had to guess, but Dean detects a poorly-concealed note of pride.

Dean smiles to himself. “Damn.”

Cas hums in response. “You weren’t joking earlier,” he says, his own smile audible. “You… enjoyed that.”

“God,” Dean laughs, slightly embarrassed. “I really did.” Dean’s used to being the hero – hasn’t had much of a choice not to be – so, yeah, he kinda gets a charge out of Cas playing knight in shining armor. And why shouldn’t he? The dude did rescue Dean from hell, after all.

Dean would be perfectly happy to stay like this for a while, but the cops could show up at any second, and being caught tangled up in a sweaty, half-naked mess would probably not do them any favors.

“We should get a move on,” Dean says, although he makes no effort to actually move. “And lay low for a while. Guess we’re gonna be working this case without police cooperation, huh?” That does complicate things a little, but they’ve completed jobs under worse circumstances before, and he wasn’t exactly eager to spend more time with Jones.

“Oh,” Cas says, as if remembering something. “There’s no case. That’s why Sam was calling.”

Dean blinks. “You coulda told me that.”

“I was a little distracted, if you’ll recall.”

Dean doesn’t know if he means the confrontation with Jones, the impromptu car sex or both, but either way it’s a fair point that he has no rebuttal for. “They find the girl?” he asks, trying to stay on track. “She okay?”

“She’s fine. She went to stay with her aunt in Minnesota.”

Dean can’t say he was expecting that. “So she left on her own? And, what, she just forgot her car out in the middle of nowhere?”

“She didn’t want to be found. I don’t think she could bring herself to confront her parents about why she left.” Cas explains, and Dean’s confused until Cas elaborates. “Apparently, she ran away with her girlfriend.”

“God,” Dean breathes, somewhere near a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s relieved on so many levels – that she’s safe, that she got out of this Podunk town, that there’s no case, that they get to go _home_. Christ, he really wants to go home. “Good for her.” He really, really means that. “Guess the aunt’s cool with everything, if she’s putting them up.”

“It seems that way,” Cas murmurs, fingers absently carding through Dean’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Having the support of loved ones is very important, isn’t it?”

Dean holds Cas while he can. “Yeah,” he agrees, blinking past the familiar burn behind his eyelids. “It really is.”

*   *   *

When Dean finds a spare moment, idling in the motel parking lot while Sam and Cas pack up the room so they can get the hell out of here, he picks up his phone and texts Charlie. She’s at some kind of convention – Dean doesn’t know, exactly, but she sent him a picture of her in a pretty impressive Xena costume – but she still answers him right away.

For a split second, Dean feels bad for making her worry, but Charlie’s his friend – she’s supposed to be concerned for him. Honestly, it’s nice to be reminded that she cares so much.

Dean laughs to himself.

Dean’s definitely experienced a weird sort of catharsis, there’s no doubt about that. And being fucked so good he came all over himself untouched probably has a lot to do with that, leaving him wrung out but pleasantly drained, hopeful on the other side of it. He blushes at the memory, squirming in his seat. God, he can still feel Cas inside him.

She’d tried to talk him into going before she left, and he’d done his damnedest to feign disinterest, but well, it could be fun. He could even convince Cas to join them, get him into the spirit of things and find something to dress him up in. That’s got potential.

Unfortunately, that’s not a bluff. What can he say, he’s a total sucker when it comes to Charlie.

Charlie’s deliberately excessive with her emoji use because Dean likes to grumble about it, but she’s not actually here, so she can’t see the way it makes him smile.

 _See you at home_ also gets him smiling, the reminder of the important people in his life, everything good he’s got waiting for him when he gets out of here. Yeah, there’s something real nice about that too.

*   *   *

It’s a dull, grey morning, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, when Cas and Dean reluctantly roll out of their creaky motel bed. It’s early as shit and Dean’s tired, but he’s good – on the road with Cas, taking on jobs that are important but not too tough, _doing_ something but not burning out in the process. Striking a balance. This will be the second leg of their trip after clearing out a nest of vamps in New Mexico, en route to check out a possible haunting in West Virginia. The car needs gas and Cas needs coffee, so they decide to make a quick pit stop before they hit the interstate.

When they pull into a gas station, Dean takes care of the car while Cas goes to the mini-mart. It’s deserted and dim outside, and when Cas returns and hands him a cardboard cup, Dean’s feeling bold enough to cozy up to him a little, share some of his body heat in the winter chill. He even sneaks a peck on Cas’s cheek before he pulls back to remove the nozzle from the tank.

There’s an audible noise of disgust behind him. “Oh, Jesus _Christ_.”

Dean peers over his shoulder and yep, of course, it’s just his luck that some slob chose that very moment to make an appearance, standing outside his own car at the adjacent pump.

Cas bristles in that familiar way, and Dean knows he’s about half a second from speaking up and putting this asshole in his place, but Dean beats him to it. “Can we help you, pal?” he asks, pleased that his voice is so steady, that he actually stands his ground as says something. It was only a short time ago that Dean would’ve ignored a guy like this completely, feeling too raw and vulnerable to find his voice, and then he would’ve felt shitty about for the rest of the afternoon. Probably longer than that.

“Yeah,” the guy replies loudly, undeterred by the way Dean’s sending a murderous look in his direction. “You can keep that _gay shit_ outta my face.”

Dean was expecting that, but he still flinches internally. He only lets it faze him for a second, collecting himself and squaring his jaw, keeping eye contact. “Oh, well, if you’ve got a problem, why don’t you come over here so we can talk about it?” He draws himself up to his full height, tries on a smile that’s more like a baring of teeth. He knows how to look intimidating when he wants to.

It seems to be working this time, because the guy’s noticeably uncomfortable now. “Yeah, _no thanks_ ,” he says brusquely, no doubt in a futile attempt to keep up his “tough guy” façade.

“Okay,” Dean says, deceptively upbeat, making a show of placing his coffee cup on the roof of the car. “I’ll come to you then.” He barely takes one step in the dude’s direction before he visibly recoils, damn near tripping over his feet backing away and scrambling into his car.

Cas is _laughing_ as the guy takes off and damn, Dean doesn’t hear that nearly often enough.

“What?” he asks, turning to Cas with a grin. “Too much?”

Cas’s smirk lingers. “I think you traumatized him.”

Dean snorts good naturedly. “At least I didn’t punch anyone, _drama queen_.”

“I’d do it again,” Cas vows, eyes intense, and Dean’s swept up by the fierceness of his loyalty, by how hot Cas’s passions run. It could almost be too overwhelming to handle, but Dean knows that if the situation were reversed, he’d be saying the exact same thing. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, a safe enough touch for a public space, but a welcome comfort all the same. “Of course, I certainly hope it won’t come to that.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Me too.”

And it’s true, he could do without another run-in like the one with Sheriff Jones, or the loudmouth at the bar, or the smarmy old motel clerk. But it’s nice to know that he’s capable of more than he thought, that everything’s a little less scary with Cas by his side, that things are only going to get easier from here.

He does still have catching up to do – that’s the story of his life, really, always more work to be done – but he’s starting to see changes in himself, the ones Charlie’s been telling him about, the ones he used to run away from, and for the first time in a long, long while, he actually likes what he sees.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been forever since I've added to this series, and it's not done yet! A big thank you to everyone who put up with my whining while writing this fic.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com)! Thanks for reading <3


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